Days and Hours :: :: University of Virginia Library

On craggy summits which the lightnings score
And noonday beams, thou, curly-headed Vine,
Fill'st thy brave heart with warmth and purple wine,
And in thy strength increasest more and more,
And beauty, till the fiery days are o'er,
And sun-brown Autumn from thy tresses wrings
Drops for the golden chalices of Kings,
And brims the earthen vessels of the poor:

So doth the Poet in his days of prime
From pains, and passions that afflict his heart,
From joy, and sorrow, and the storms of time,
Draw the clear nectar of almighty Art,
And sheds his heartdrops in a gracious dew
That heals all other hearts it passeth thro'.

169

The earth is thirsty, yet thy veins are full;
The herb is shrivell'd, yet thy leaves are green;
The chaff lies withering where the grain hath been,
Ere yet thy clusters they begin to cull;
The latest fruits when they have ceased to pull
The red grape dances in the breeze of heaven,
And laugheth in the light of morn and even
With amber leaves, when summer flowers are dull.

So doth the Poet in his latter time
Feel God within when other hearts are cold;
When Avarice cannot delve, Ambition climb,
His step is onward, and his heart is bold;
And when his hair is white with many years,
His eye is full of hope, and unshed tears.

And when thy leaves that were so large and fair
Are whirl'd away before the rushing wind,
And in the wintry vineyard none may find
One haggard cluster out of all that were,

170

When hill and dale are desolate and bare;
Thy ruddy dews are sparkling in the light
Of the illumined hearth, and festal night,
Thy golden wave brings back the summer air!

So doth the Poet, from the earth departed,
Out of the darkness of Oblivion pass,
And to the happy, and the broken-hearted
Sings of his joys and sorrows—all he was;
Till his pale spectre is of vaster span
Than he—the Memory nobler than the Man!